


State of My Head

by WhereverMySITakesMe



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, F/M, Fade to Black, Flashbacks, Heavy Angst, Murder-Suicide, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Royai is a Mess, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 04:47:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29604054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhereverMySITakesMe/pseuds/WhereverMySITakesMe
Summary: Sometimes Mustang is the only thing preventing Hawkeye from taking her own life and she resents him and the burden he represents.Sometimes he's the only thing making her life worth living.
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 4
Kudos: 21





	State of My Head

_Oh, my eyes are seein' red  
Double vision from the blood we've shed  
The only way I'm leavin' is dead  
That's the state of my, state of my, state of my head _

There was absolutely no reason for Hawkeye to be feeling like this. Apart from the obvious, that was. There had been nothing new to trigger the episode, at least, nothing that a professional, adult woman shouldn’t be able to handle. But apparently Hawkeye was anything but.

She had been reduced to a goddamned mess by nothing more a white coat, which had been worn by some visitor to Easter HQ. It was full length, hooded, worn over bulky clothes with a smear of red on one sleeve and Hawkeye was back in Ishval, part of a sea of white-coated murders. The scent of smoke in her nostrils, her gun in her hands and adrenaline running through her veins. Guilt and exhaustion.

She snapped out of it. She had a soldier’s reflexes, so it was easy enough to quash the distraction. But the brief flashback threw her off and started her on a downward spiral. Guilt kept needling at her, insistent and impossible to ignore. It got harder to focus and every slight noise made her heart skitter. Worst of all was a well-meaning slap on the back from Havoc, who could see that she was out of sorts but didn’t know that she hated her back being touched. That was what tipped her over the edge.

And once she’d lost her grip on sanity, it was impossible to find it again. The rest of the day passed in a fog as she robotically worked through paperwork, ignoring the people around her. When the office started to empty, she went home and shut herself in a corner of her apartment with a bottle of wine. She was too tired and too disassociated to even think about making dinner, changing out of her uniform or turning the lights on. Could barely be bothered to drink.

The sky outside darkened as s he stared unseeingly out of the window, her mind almost completely blank. It was better that way. Dull emptiness was better than the intense, adrenaline-fuelled nightmares that also sometimes plagued her. In fact, right now, she was pretty much fine, no different to anyone else who happened to be looking pensively out of their window. Not panicky, or even sad. Just quietly assessing her life.

It was bleak and without any hope of improvement. Sure, she’d likely feel better than she did now. Tomorrow or the day after or in a week’s time, whatever. The fog would lift and she’d be able to focus again. Would even be happy. But things wouldn’t actually change. Nothing could erase what she’d done or what she’d helped Mustang do. The memories of Ishval would never leave her and every day brought with it the risk that they would be ordered to do something like that again.

She rested the back of her head on the wall, as she watched the rest of her life stretch out in front of her. Day after day after day burdened by the lives she had ended the constant worry that that number would be increased. It was unbearable. But there was nothing she could do.

That was almost the worst part. The inescapeability of it all. At times like this, she ached to just give up. She’d given life a good shot but it had turned out to be an irreparable disaster and, yes, parts of that were her fault but parts of it **w** **ere** **n’t** and surely there had to come a point where she was allowed to say “Enough is enough”.

Or maybe there wasn’t, or she hadn’t reached it, and opting out would just be a cowardly way to escape the consequences of her sins. Fine. Let the people she left behind call her selfish, let God damn her to Hell, she didn’t care. Nothing she did now would prevent any just God from damning her and her friends would understand what had driven her to suicide. It wasn’t like she would be the first. Everyone knew about the soldiers and ex-soldiers who had taken their own lives after Ishval, even though no one ever talked about them.

There was one difference between those soldiers and Hawkeye, one thing that meant she couldn’t give up, no matter how much she wanted to.

Mustang.

She had to watch him, always, to make sure he stayed on the right path, because the risk of him deviating from it were almost unimaginable. And that was because of what **she’d** done. She had given him his powers, so it was up to her to ensure they weren’t misused, or at least no more than they had already been. She couldn’t shirk that duty and so she couldn’t kill herself. Unless, of course, she took him with her.

Which she wouldn’t do, of course. She wouldn’t kill anyone for such a selfish reason and certainly not Mustang. But she thought about it, sometimes. Felt the weight of her pistol at her side and imagined drawing it. Aiming at his head. Pulling the trigger. Freeing him from life as a monster. And then, turning the weapon on herself. Finally leaving this living hell.

She was still wearing her uniform, including her gun. Where was Mustang now? How long would it take to find him?

That thought didn’t last long but it was enough to make her shudder. She took a slug of wine in a futile attempt to clear her head. Even in her haze she was disgusted with herself for thinking things like that. Mustang was a good man, it was despicable to think of hurting him. Even if his integrity would probably condemn Hawkeye to a long, miserable life.

Absently, she glanced at the bottle to see how much she’d drunk. A lot, though she didn’t feel like she had. The alcohol seemed to have been adsorbed into the black hole of her despair, leaving her, as far as she could see, completely sober.

Still, she had the sense to realise that if she kept going at this rate she’d be in pretty bad shape tomorrow. She already knew she was too stubborn to call in sick, even if she drank through the night and didn’t sleep at all. She would be at HQ tomorrow no matter what. And it would be fine. It would be hypocritical for Mustang to chastise her. It wasn’t unheard of for him to come to work stinking of booze and far too hungover to work. Usually he’d end up sleeping it off in a supply closet. Which was fair enough, he worked late often enough to make up the time and Hawkeye was more than willing to cover for him. He’d been through hell, it would be cruel to punish him for having a bad night, bad week, bad month or bad life that had driven him to drink. And he’d do the same for her.

Suddenly Hawkeye was seized by a desperate urge to speak to him. He would understand. He always understood.

Before she knew what she was doing, she found that she had picked up the phone and dialled Mustang’s number.

“Hello?” His voice was in her ear before she could reconsider.

“Good evening, Colonel” She said, calmly and professionally. She always kept her composer, no matter what.

“Lieutenant Hawkeye. What can I do for you?”

“Do you want to get a drink?”

That took them both by surprise and Mustang laughed “You’re forward tonight, Lieutenant” he teased “It’s lucky that I don’t have another date”

“I guess so”

“Where do you want to meet?”

“My apartment” Hawkeye said immediately. She couldn’t face the outside world in this state.

“ **Very** forward” Mustang said in mock horror “What’s got into you tonight?”

Exhaustion washed over Hawkeye at the idea of even trying to explain her current mental state. Even if she wanted his understanding, she couldn’t form the words “I just want to see you”

“Is everything okay?” Mustang was suddenly serious.

“Yes” That could not have been more obviously untrue.

But he didn’t press it any further because, well, he understood. Understood that she didn’t want to talk about it over the phone “Alright. See you soon” The smirk returned to his voice as he said “Try to contain yourself until then”

“Goodbye, Mustang” Hawkeye said, with an appropriate level of weariness, and hung up.

It took about ten minutes for Mustang to walk from his apartment and Hawkeye filled most of that time with more staring. Most productivity was still beyond her.

But the one thing she did do was take her gun out of it’s holster and stow it in a box and pile a couple of books on top of it. She would get it out again in the morning.

Right on time came the knock on the door “Your knight in Shining armour is here”

Hawkeye went to open the door, turning on the lights as she passed “Good evening, Colonel”

“So, you can’t face the idea of spending twelve hours without me?” Mustang asked as he stepped inside.

“Something like that” She closed the door behind him and held up the wine bottle that was apparently still in her left hand “Do you want a drink?”

“Doesn’t look like there’s much left” His tone was still teasing, but she could sense the concern underneath.

“I can open another” She turned away, putting the bottle on a table.

“No” Mustang put a hand on her arm “Don’t bother, I’m fine. And you’ve had plenty” She turned back to him to object but he cut her off, moving his hand to her cheek “Why don’t we just talk for a while?”

She met his eyes, taking his face in both of her hands “I don’t want to talk”

“Oh?” He cocked an eyebrow, smirking again “What did you have in-”

She kissed him.

Mustang understood that urge too and welcomed it. He moved to her hip and pulled her closer as his mouth parted against hers. The familiar taste of his lips and the smell of his skin up close were impossibly enticing and suddenly she was overwhelmed with desire. She needed more, much more. She pushed him backwards, pinning him against the wall. Her hands moved to his chest and she began unbuttoning his shirt. He matched her intensity, kissing her, harder, more passionately and unfastening her jacket, her trousers, his hands roaming all over her body. Then his mouth was moving, kissing along her jaw until he reached her ear and began murmuring into it, his voice low and seductive.

She could barely make out what he was saying, too distracted by desperate need. She was panting and her heart was racing, because she could not to move fast enough, could not get enough of him. When she had to pull away to shrug off her jacket and pull her t-shirt over her head and the distance was unbearable.

Relief washed over her like a wave when she was free of her clothes and Mustang pulled her into his arms again. She was melted into him, letting the warmth of his body chase the darkness away.

For now, at least, it worked.


End file.
